Exile
by Occam's Razor
Summary: Aragorn quarrels with his father, like he has so many times before, and is banished for it. But is it what Aragornor his fatherwants? Please note that this is an AU, so it's not really similar to Tolkien's works.


Author Note: This is an AU (Alternate Universe) using nothing related to Tolkien except place names and people names. If you love Tolkien and don't want his work any different, don't read this. Sorry if the lines are too close or too far apart.

He was only sixteen, but he had knowledge beyond his years. No one knew if it was because of his bloodline or because of where he lived. But nonetheless, there it was. There were rumors that he could speak to the elves and fly with the birds. Now, as he sat on the highest branch of the white tree, he laughed. It was an infectious laugh that could be caught by almost anyone, had they the time for it. It was then that he heard his father calling for him. He hurriedly jumped down from the tree, knowing that he had been scolded before for resting in it. "Yes," he muttered. "I'm coming." His father had not heard the reply.

"Aragorn!" Aragorn's slow, refined walk turned quickly into a jog that, in turn, became a full-out run. When he got to his father's door, he stopped and calmed his breathing back down. One did not do well to seem anything less than the best in the presence of the king of Gondor. Aragorn walked through and met his father's eerie eyes perfectly.

"Yes, Father? I understand you wanted me."

The king hardly moved, and didn't smile at his son. "I am going to assume that you think these sorts of pranks are amusing?"

The relationship between father and son had been anything but warm and loving. The king was distant with the boy, and in turn Aragorn was like that also. Aragorn didn't have time to gain attention from someone who clearly didn't want to give, nor receive it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Aragorn replied, his eyes never wavering from his father's face. It was in the face that some clue was to be found as to his father's intention.

"Use your head child, for once in your life!" the king blared. "You are a Dunedain, a descendent of Isildur. Use what you know." Aragorn grimaced, grinding his teeth behind closed lips. He hated being called a child and being reminded of who and what he was. He knew. None of his anger showed on his face. The king frowned, disappointed that he could not get his son to think for himself. "Why weren't you in class today?" Aragorn flinched. He had forgotten. "Yes, I know boy. You can't do it again. What will they people say when I have died and an uneducated fool must take the throne? They will want a strong leader and you are it my son!"

"I don't want it," Aragorn mumbled.

"What…what did you say?" The king starred at him.

"I don't want it! I don't want to have this kingdom! You keep it. I'm not

interested in politics or how to run a country. What I know I have within me."

The king laughed. "But surely you are joking. Amusing, without a doubt. A wonderful way from escaping the forthcoming consequences." His eyes had turned cold again.

"It's not a jest. I don't want it."

"You're making me angry boy, and it won't end well."

"Nevertheless, it is the truth." Aragorn turned and began to walk for the door.

The king rose from his seat. "You have not been dismissed!" he screamed.

Aragorn turned back, his face red in anger. "What is it that you want from me

Father? I can't perform what you want me to! My skills lie elsewhere. I have found them, and I know what I can do with them, yet you refuse to see it!"

"This is the reason you would abandon the people of Gondor? Because you're too stubborn to see what is best for others around you?"

"So are you! If you thought-just for one second-about what was best for me, you would see that it is not in running this country! So I repeat what I said: I don't want it."

"Maybe you won't get the chance to have it!" The king roared, advancing toward Aragorn.

"What?" The shock showed on his face. Was his father actually going to give him what he was asking for, what he desperately needed?

His father was fuming, but no longer shouting. "That's right. You no longer get the chance." He turned away from his son. "I want you out of here. You don't want the responsibilities, you don't get the pleasures either. I want you out of here. Tonight." Aragorn starred at his father's back, then turned and walked down the hall to his room.

It was a small room, one of the smallest in the entire castle. Quickly he shed his nicer clothes and put on the clothes that the elves had given him. They were more comfortable than the others anyway. He donned a black traveler's cloak and walked to the armory. His sword was sheathed, hanging on a wall, next to his dagger and his quiver and bow. He took them all and walked out of the building to the stables nearby. His horse was the closest one to the end, but he passed her and stopped in front of another horse. This one was male, black and new. The king had recently received him as a gift. It was one of the Mearas, but he knew his father didn't know it. Aragorn doubted that the horse would be missed. He extended his hand out to the horse and laid his hand along its muzzle. He placed his head beside the ear and whispered, "If you will bear me, please do so, for I have long to go, and will be friendless else wise." The horse whinnied and Aragorn laughed. "So then my friend," he said, mounting the creature, "a great journey will begin. Where it will end, I do not know. But who does?"


End file.
